Page 60 of Dirty Cowboy

"Sure did," he says, eyes distant. "Times were easier back then. Prices were lower, and the farm gave us everything we needed. Now?" He shakes his head. "Expenses pile up faster than the crops grow."

He gestures toward the thick tree line stretching east. "We even had a drilling rig two miles past that forest. Hit oil when I was ten. My mother just about had a heart attack when I came home covered in the stuff. Couldn't figure out why I was so damn greasy until I showed her."

"You had oil on your farm?" I lean in, drawn in by the story.

"Sure did. Didn’t last long, though. Dried up after a year, but it was enough to upgrade the farm." His hands rest easy on the wheel, shifting gears like second nature. "Put some of the money into investments. That turned out well enough."

I absorb the weight of his words, imagining a young Albert stumbling into his mother’s kitchen, dripping in crude oil. A fortune found and spent in the name of survival.

“Misty said Huntz lived north of here,” I press, my voice careful.

Grandpa’s jaw tightens. "He did. But he's gone now." He slows Suzy into neutral, letting her roll down the hill toward the driveway. His face turns toward me, deep lines etching his expression. "Haven’t seen him in years," he admits, voice carrying a mix of relief and something else—something heavier. "And it's better that way."

“But Misty saw him yesterday,” I push, watching for a reaction.

Grandpa exhales, cutting the ignition. "That’s because the sheriff’s office is also the post office and the town hall. Huntz just comes to pick up his mail, and that's it." He steps out, the truck groaning under the shift in weight. Circling around, he pulls open my door, offering me his arm. "It’s better to move forward than to keep looking back, Emma."

I loop my hand through his, his words settling like an unspoken warning. "I'll do my best," I promise, even if I’m not entirely sure it’s a promise I can keep.

As we walk toward Joanne and Ethan’s house, he pats my shoulder, his smile warm, hopeful.

"I’m glad Eric finally settled down," he says, his voice rich with satisfaction. "I can’t wait for you two to make the announcement this weekend."

His words should feel like comfort, but instead, they weigh me down like a stone. This lie—our carefully constructed engagement—wraps itself around me tighter, pressing against my ribs until I can barely breathe. I steal a glance at Grandpa, at the joy lighting his face, and make a silent vow.

I’ll make this real.

For Grandpa.

For me.

Ericwantsme… I know he does. He just needs a little push, and a little time, and I still have a few more days here. A few more days, and he’ll be mine. Then, love will come. It has to. And then, we won’t have to break Grandpa Albert’s heart.

Or mine.

Joanne greets us at the doorstep with a motherly embrace, pulling me into the warmth of her home. The kitchen is alive with scents that feel like a hug—freshly baked pies, warm pancakes, sizzling bacon, and the deep, rich aroma of brewing coffee. My stomach tightens in response.

"Emma, darling, come out to the greenhouse with me," Joanne says, linking her arm through mine. "We need cherry tomatoes."

I follow her outside, crossing the dewy grass toward the sprawling glass structure at the back of the yard. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of basil and rosemary, the warmth wrapping around me like a second skin. Vines curl from the ceiling, flowers spill from hanging pots, and leafy greens flourish in wooden crates. It's like stepping into a hidden garden paradise.

“How was your evening?” she asks.

"The piglets were amazing," I say, reaching for a vine of ripe tomatoes and popping one in my mouth. It’s sweet, juicy and actually has flavor. "I have to admit, the country life is growing on me more than I expected."

Joanne chuckles, scooping her apron into a makeshift basket for our harvest. "I’m happy to hear that. Not everyone adjusts so easily. But there's something special about this place."

I hesitate before broaching the subject that’s been sitting heavily on my mind since yesterday. "I hope I’m not overstepping, but Misty mentioned… John Huntz. And your baby." I swallow hard, unsure if I should continue. "I’m so sorry for your loss."

Joanne stills, her fingers hovering over a tomato, her expression distant. The air between us shifts, thickens. The grief is palpable, curling around us like an unseen force.

"I'm sorry," I say quickly, my stomach sinking. "I shouldn’t have brought it up."

Joanne exhales softly, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "It's all right," she murmurs. "Yes, I lost a baby girl. But that was a long time ago."

I shake my head. "I don’t believe grief everstops."

Her smile falters, but she nods. "You're right. It comes and goes, some days harder than others. We named herSky." Her voice catches on the name, and I feel my chest tighten in response. "Sometimes, it feels like she's still with us."

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